Chapter 28
Bad Feeling
Maryanne
Maryanne shifted in the uncomfortable chair, or rather she shifted again. And the hard plastic underneath her butt wasn’t the only reason for her squirming discomfort.
She let out a breath of frustration as she glanced at the clock. She crossed her arms in front of her, forearms resting on the desk. Ten minutes she’d been here, waiting in Mr. McKenzie’s room for him to show. Liking him less and less as she watched the sweeping second-hand take yet another turn around the clock at the front of the classroom.
How long was she supposed to wait? And the more pressing question, why did McKenzie want to see her, anyway? That thought came in on a yawn.
What a drawn-out day this had been, starting in first-period Math. Mr. McKenzie had paper-clipped a note to the test he’d handed back to her: See me after school.
That was it; no explanation.
Well, that had set the mood for the day!
But she really couldn’t understand the timing of the note. She’d made a decent mark on the test he handed back—88. That was well above the class average, and her own average for that matter. At least this year, anyway. And she hadn’t missed a day in the last ten school days, thanks to Alex’s nagging.
But today had crept by at a snail’s pace for another reason. Maryanne was just that freaking tired after another near-sleepless night. And this time, unfortunately, it hadn’t even been because they’d cast out. They hadn’t.
The three of them had actually agreed they needed a night without casting. Quite a thing for them to agree on anything, but especially remarkable when it came to this. But there was no way around it. They all needed a full night’s sleep to combat the deficit they were all rocking. Eight solid hours had sounded positively heavenly. Even Connie had pushed them into it when they’d last seen her, two nights ago. This despite how much Connie loved being with the three of them. Alex especially—that was obvious. The two of them were incredibly tight. But Connie knew how draining, how exhausting, it was to be out so often and so long, even with the copper bracelets to boost them. They each had three bracelets now hanging on the oak tree by the river, thanks to Connie. She loved to give them gifts.
Connie joined them every time they cast out now. The girls would unlock the door and sneak up to the attic to tap out on the glass almost every single night. And Connie would be waiting for them along the riverbank, in a dark hiding spot or in the shadowed woods. Then the three became four.
Maryanne knew they were taking their chances casting out so often. The more they were out, the more they were in danger of being seen. Rumors were starting to spread around Mansbridge—some pretty far out there, but some pretty accurate—about the Mansbridge Hellers. And not just from Melissa. And although she hadn’t mentioned it to Alex or Brooke, Maryanne was suddenly noticing iron horseshoes appearing on a few doors around the superstitious town. Not that the casters couldn’t just move around the horseshoes if they wanted in. But they sure as hell would have to be careful not to touch them. Iron was absolutely depleting! Draining of energy in a sudden and almost sickening way. That time they’d encountered the nails in the walls at Seth’s place had been enough for Maryanne. She wasn’t anxious for a bigger dose of it. But the horseshoes were a sign, if nothing else, that the Heller stories were starting again.
They’d have to be more careful. But they’d never stop casting.
She yawned again. What the heck was keeping McKenzie?
Last night, Brooke had been snoring lightly within five minutes of lights out. She’d heard only one tired sigh from Alex then nothing after that. Maryanne had tossed and turned most of the night.
The basement. That was all she could think about as she’d lain there in the darkness.
Why-oh-why had she mentioned the basement to Alex and Brooke back at the restaurant?
Because you had to, came the answer.
Maryanne had snuck down into the basement the day after Halloween, heart pounding harder with every one of those thirteen steps she’d descended. She never would have ventured down there under normal circumstances, but that was the day John Smith had changed the lock on the attic door, and desperate times called for desperate measures.
Hiding in the upstairs hallway, listening by the stairs, Maryanne had heard the door slam when John had returned from the hardware store. She heard him offer a key to Mrs. Betts, then work one onto his own jingling key ring. “There,” he said when the job was done. “I’ll take the spare to the key box.”
“Check the storm windows while you’re down there, John.”
Down there.
Well, they were already on the first floor, so that could only mean the basement.
When it was quiet below, she had slipped down the stairs, through the thankfully empty kitchen and into the basement. Hurrying like a bandit, she located the key cabinet. To her relief, it wasn’t locked. A homemade affair, it wasn’t even equipped with a lock. She opened the small door and took the newest-looking key that dangled there. Not that there was much guesswork involved; it hung from a newly installed brass hook with the letter “A” written beside it in permanent marker.
Key in hand, she jogged to the hardware store on Alder and asked for three copies of it. She’d been half afraid the clerk would recognize the key and demand to see permission before he copied it, but he hadn’t even glanced at it. Which made sense, she supposed. A high-security key would surely look different, probably have a number or a code on it at the very least. And it probably wouldn’t be stored in an unlocked cabinet for anyone to take. The clerk made the copies quickly. She paid cash for them and got the heck out of there.
Maryanne had felt the I’m-so-smart smile stretching across her face as she slipped back into the basement and returned the key to the key box. But as she’d turned around, as she’d let herself relax a moment in that dim basement, she’d felt it. Not the draft through the mortared stone walls, nor the dampness rising from the dirt floor below her feet. The skeletal-like pipes running across the ceiling and down the walls by the water tank hadn’t drawn her attention under the lone yellow light bulb as she looked around. No, it was nothing material that sent the shiver through her.
It was the vibe of the basement. The terrible mood of the place—the violent spirit. Oh my God, the fury, the profound pain that seemed to emanate—no, to ache—from the very air down there.
Evil.
She’d been so scared! Chilled deep, beyond her bones. Taking the steps two at a time, she’d beat it back up the two flights to her bedroom. She’d sat on her bed, nearly hyperventilating, with her knees drawn up and her back pressed hard against the headboard.
That was the last time she’d been down to the basement. Not for lack of trying.
The three of them had tried to sneak down several times, and Maryanne had had to brace herself far more than Alex or Brooke would ever know. But as it happened, they hadn’t been able to find the kitchen empty. Maryanne had suggested they all three skip school to try in the daytime, but Alex pointed out that no way would that fly with Betts, or without raising suspicion. They’d tried to sneak down a few nights. But each time someone had been in the kitchen when they’d stopped just outside the door, rattling around the cupboards or sneaking a forbidden smoke. So last night, they’d all agreed, it was time to try something else. Another way into the basement.
The sweeping second-hand on the clock caught Maryanne’s attention again, and she shook her head. 3:45. Mr. McKenzie was twenty minutes late now.
Maybe he’d forgotten he wanted to see her. He’d looked jangled enough this morning as he’d walked into the classroom. It was a possibility.
Or maybe he was on the phone to her parents right now? Oh crap! Maybe that was what was keeping him. She groaned.
Her mom and dad were missing her more and more. They were emailing all the time these days, calling every other night. Just yesterday a large parcel had arrived, packed with pumpkin chocolate-chip c
ookies—of which Alex scarfed down a half-dozen—and lemon squares. Cradled within the bunch of new socks, flannel pajamas, a new red hoodie and two new pairs of jeans that made even Brooke look twice, was a carefully-boxed, pecan pie. The fragile package had been couriered overnight from Toronto. There was a card inside the box, holding two hundred dollars and a note that read, ‘We love you, Maryanne. We miss you like crazy and we want you to come home soon.’
Oh those words had pained her.
The good news was Skip Hemlock and Kelly Webb-Hemlock were healing. Going on with their lives and getting their lives back as much as they could. Remembering Maryanne in it, though of course she’d never really been forgotten so much as set aside for a while, while they grieved, while they survived, they wanted her back.
Maryanne wasn’t ready to go home yet, though. God help her, she didn’t know if she ever would be. Not after what she’d done to Jason. Her parents loved her now, but if they only knew... Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed hard. And on the heels of that emotion came the now-familiar longing, powerful and all consuming, to cast out. She had no tears out there.
And casting itself... another reason she couldn’t even dream of going home to Burlington. How could she leave that behind? That adventure? The reprieve and glorious freedom? And yes, the power too.
And Connie Harvell. How could any of them leave Connie behind—that poor, lonely caster?
The lonely, tired caster.
Alex had been right. As she’d suggested, Maryanne had held Connie’s hand on the very next cast out, and she’d felt just what Alex had described, that profound tiredness. Connie had to rest. Had to end this. And they did need to find her body for her, if they could.
But even if they did find Connie’s body, would she be able to rest even then? What if she couldn’t cast back in? Or God, what if she could? They truly didn’t know what would happen.
But they had to try.
“Oh, you’re still here.”
Maryanne glanced up to see Mr. McKenzie in the doorway.
She nodded at the obvious.
McKenzie stumbled a bit as he walked into the room, nearly knocking over a chair by Maryanne’s desk. His hand shot out to grab it before it toppled. Moving the chair close to hers, he swung it around and straddled the seat, crossing his arms casually over the chair’s back.
She smelled the alcohol when he smiled.
“I wanted to talk to you about your math,” McKenzie began.
Somehow Maryanne doubted it. “My mark has come up with my last two tests,” she said. “Did my parents call you about it?”
“I know you’re capable of better,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her question. “You could do better.”
“I will.”
“You could get the highest mark in the class.” His smile widened. “If you really wanted it. I mean, if you let me... help you.”
He reached over and settled a hand down on Maryanne’s right arm. She froze.
Oh crap, this better not get weirder.
It got weirder.
“Must be hard for you coming all the way from Ontario. Not knowing anyone. All alone in this town. Ever get lonely here in Mansbridge? Need someone to talk to? Need a friend? Someone to watch over you... maybe a man? Not just a local-yokel boy... but a man.” With this thumb, McKenzie lightly stroked her arm. “Because I could be more—”
Maryanne stood quickly, knocking her own chair over as she pulled away. “I’ve got to go.” Leaving the chair on the floor, she grabbed her jacket and book bag from a nearby desk.
“We’re not done here.” Mr. McKenzie’s tone was no longer soft, but demanding. “Sit down, Maryanne.”
“I’m... I’m on kitchen duty at the house,” she lied. “And I’m already late.”
“So be later.” McKenzie stood, the smile gone now. His face held anger, and even more frightening, determination.
“I can’t,” Maryanne said, backing away. “Patricia Betts is waiting for me. I’m surprised she hasn’t called, wondering what’s keeping me.” From the front pocket of her book bag, Maryanne pulled out her cell. It was another recent gift from her parents, a just-in-case kind of thing. She’d never even used it, but held it open in her hand now, her thumb hovering over the buttons. “But I called her earlier to say you wanted to see me after school.”
“You’re not supposed to have a cell phone at school,” McKenzie intoned sternly. But he took a step back, and Maryanne knew her bluff had worked. Hidden away in the attic that day, she’d learned how protective Betts really was. Maybe this teacher knew it too.
Maryanne raced down the hall. Behind her, she heard a slam—probably the chair she’d knocked over being righted with excessive force.
She crashed out the door of the school, and didn’t stop to throw on her jacket until she was a block away. She snapped her cell—oh wow, her uncharged cell!—shut, and caught her shaky breath.
Alex would have told him off, she was sure of it. Brooke would have kicked his ass. Connie would have shrieked him insane!
“And Maryanne? What would wimpy Maryanne do?”
She was glad now that she’d swooped his car that night. Thrilled that she’d run him off the road. And if she ever saw him again when she was cast out, she would do worse.
The creep!
But she wouldn’t see him tonight. Nor anything else of Mansbridge, for that matter. Because tonight when they cast out, they were going to re-enter Harvell House. Tonight they would finally—God help them—explore the horrible basement.
Just thinking of the place sent an echo of the fear and rage she’d sensed there shuddering through her, making her feel raw and tearful. On top of the weirdness with McKenzie, it was too much. She needed to find Alex and Brooke. Telling them what had just happened with McCreepy would help.
So would their company, she realized. Even Brooke’s. Wow. When had they stopped being roommates and become friends?
A car passing on the street slowed and Maryanne’s heart leapt. Not McKenzie, she realized. Just a soccer mom in a mini-van slowing to let a squirrel cross the road. But that little shot of adrenaline leant her extra speed as she ran the rest of the way home.